


Tick Tock

by Aria_Lerendeair



Series: Kriskenshin's Johnlock Ficlets of Awesome [10]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: I like it, M/M, Non Graphic Death, different format
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-02
Updated: 2013-12-02
Packaged: 2018-01-03 05:44:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1066525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aria_Lerendeair/pseuds/Aria_Lerendeair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three years after his disappearance, Sherlock gets told that Moran is making his move on John.  He has to get to John before it is too late.  The clock is ticking.  Tick tock.  Tick tock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tick Tock

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KrisKenshin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrisKenshin/gifts).



> This was for KrisKenshin's lovely prompt: "At Gunpoint" and it was so delicious that I couldn't resist.

Tick-Tock.

 

Sherlock frowned and looked at the wall in front of him, covered in strings and newspaper clippings. Close. He was so close. Moran would not escape from him this time.

 

Tick-Tock.

 

John rubbed the back of his neck. He had been able to shake the feeling that someone was watching him. That someone had been watching him for the past few weeks, maybe longer.

He’d started taking different paths home from work, but the feeling didn’t stop. John let himself into his apartment and made sure to firmly lock the door behind him.

 

Tick-Tock.

 

Sherlock looked at his phone as it rang. Six calls in an hour. Mycroft was preventing him from thinking properly. The shrill ring of the phone came again. He flipped the phone open.

“Get to John. Moran is moving in.” Click.

Sherlock was moving out of the room in an instant. John. He had to get to John.

 

Tick-Tock

 

John left his apartment and shut the door firmly behind him. He felt much more relaxed now that he had his gun tucked into the back of his jeans. It was a comfort he hadn’t needed since Sherlock.

He’d be ready. Nevermind that the idea that someone was following him was ridiculous. But if they were? He’d be ready. He headed to the surgery, his head filled with little reminders of Sherlock. He looked around, wishing, not for the first time, that he could see things like Sherlock did. Had.

 

Tick-Tock

 

Cursing himself when he saw that John’s apartment was empty, Sherlock spun and immediately headed towards the surgery. He’d make it in time. It’d been three years. He had to. Moran would not win the war.

He ducked into an alley and started to run. He was out of time. He had to get there. He had to. John.

 

Tick-Tock

 

Mycroft stared at the wall of monitors in front of him, his eyes darting from one image to another. The good doctor had disappeared in the blink of an eye, all trace of him gone.

He heard another cup of tea be placed at his elbow, but he did not risk looking away from the monitors. Finally, the flash of an image caught his eye. His phone was out in a moment. “Barts. Now. Hurry.”

 

Tick-Tock

 

In an instant, Sherlock spun and sprinted in the other direction. He’d fallen for it, been led in the opposite direction. Fool! Idiot! He pushed past people in his way, not caring for any of them. He wasn’t far. John wasn’t far. He had to get there. Had to.

 

Tick-Tock

 

John growled around the gag that had been pressed between his lips, and the piece of tape that was over his mouth. He struggled, the zip tie holding his wrists together cutting into his skin. The blood made his hands slippery and he struggled more, trying to slide it off.

“I’d stop struggling if I were you John. He’ll come for you soon enough.”

He? He who? He growled against the gag again, wishing he could see.

 

Tick-Tock

 

Sherlock slammed the door to the rooftop open, and stopped. He stared at Moran, holding a gun to John’s forehead. John’s gun. Fully loaded. Clean. Perfectly functional.

“Let him go.” He watched John jerk at the sound of his voice, and though John couldn’t see, those eyes were riveted to him. Sherlock could feel them. Even as he stared at Moran.

 

Tick-Tock

 

Moran laughed and tightened his grip on John, pressing the gun tighter to his temple. “He knew something was wrong. This smart little dog of yours. Wasn’t smart enough to catch me. Neither were you.” He licked his lips and smirked. “Now, now I am going to make you pay for what you did. For killing him. He was obsessed with you, and you killed him!”

 

Tick-Tock

 

“He killed himself. We both know that. I’m the one you want. Now let John go.” Sherlock ordered, stepping closer. He froze when the gun was cocked and stared at where it was pressed into John’s temple. Think. He had to think. They had to get out of this. He had to get John out of this.

 

Tick-Tock

 

John trembled and cursed himself for not fighting harder. That couldn’t be Sherlock. Even if it sounded somewhat like him, there was no way that could be Sherlock. Sherlock was dead. He’d jumped off Barts. He was dead.

He started to struggle again and stumbled as he was pushed forward. He tried to catch his balance, wondering if he was going to be pushed straight off the roof.

 

Tick...

 

Sherlock caught John, keeping him close, his hands tightening around John’s biceps as he stared at Moran, still standing on the edge of the roof. It wasn’t over. Nothing could be that easy. John was still struggling, trying to get away from him, but Sherlock held him tight.

“I want you to go what I went through. I want you to watch him die. I want you to stare at me and know you are never going to get revenge, because I am going to kill him in your arms.” Moran said, his voice giddy as he pointed the gun.

“The best part? The best part is that you know I won’t miss.” Moran said. His lips curled into a vicious smirk. “He’d be so proud. So proud to see you terrified like this. All of your brilliance and wit useless with a gun pointed at you.”

“Tell him goodbye Sherlock. I want you to tell him goodbye and know that it really is goodbye, to know that you aren’t good enough. That you weren’t good enough to save him.”

Sherlock lifted his hands to John’s blindfold and undid it, waiting until John met his eyes. John, his John, the John who wasn’t afraid to die, was staring up at him, the corners of his eyes turned up like he was smiling. “John, I’m so-” Sherlock stopped when John shook his head.

It was the work of an instant. John stepped up on his tiptoes, uncaring about the tape covering his lips as he kissed Sherlock. He closed his eyes. He could die now. No regrets. Sherlock would be strong enough. He would be.

The gun went off.

 

...Tock

 

 

John jerked away from Sherlock. He’d been shot. He knew what it felt like. There was no blinding pain. His eyes flew open, searching all over Sherlock’s surprised face, praying that Moran hadn’t done that, hadn’t been that cruel, hadn’t made him watch Sherlock die all over again. “Mmffff!”

Sherlock stared at the body of Moran, crumpled on the edge of the rooftop. A small round bullet hole between his eyes. Instantaneous death. Sherlock turned to look over his shoulder. Lestrade. Gun out. Freshly fired. Hands shaking. He’d saved them. Saved them both. It was over. It was all over.

 

Tick-Tock

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hate it? Love it? Did I have someone remove their shirt twice? Let me know!
> 
> Comments and Criticisms welcome!
> 
> You can find me here: http://aria-lerendeair.tumblr.com/
> 
> You can also watch me write fics like this (and dozens of others) live! Follow me on Livestream for fics, shenanigans and a general all-around awesome time! http://new.livestream.com/accounts/7212317


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